Roberts gave us a map and pointed out a place that we would meet after dark to make the exchange. “We’ll give you one kid to take with you to show we can get them out,” Roberts said.
“You already have one of them?” Marla asked.
“We have all of them,” Roberts said, glancing toward Miller. “They were kidnapped as a favor to us.”
“So it’s true, we can’t be trusted?” Miller asked.
“After the war we can sit down and have a drink someplace,” Roberts said. “We get a good enough buzz on, we’ll talk about the philosophy of war. Until then we’ll do what we have to do to keep our people alive.”
We were fed. The food was good. I thought it was lamb with carrots and couscous. The stick-and-mud hut we were in looked something like old pictures of American Indian homes.
“The funny thing is…” Captain Coles was holding a piece of meat on the end of a stick. “In a way we are getting closer to the people we’re dealing with. I don’t trust Roberts, either.”
“What are we going to do?” Miller asked.
“What we’re told and hope he gets us out of here alive,” he said. “And I hope he’s right about the detonators and that we’re actually going to be doing some good.”
Roberts came in with a young man dressed in black. He moved into the shadows against the wall and almost disappeared. Roberts had a dark green sack with him which he tossed down in front of us. We shut down the conversation as he sat.
“The food’s good, huh?”
“It’s okay,” Marla said.
“If we thought we could pull this off without you guys, you wouldn’t be here,” Roberts said. “But we think you’re going to do just fine. Fadel here is going to translate for you. He was a student at Basra College.”
“Is there a chance they’ll try to reneg on the deal and just off our people and take the kids?” Jonesy asked.
“That’s what I would do if I was them,” Roberts said.
I was scared out of my freaking mind. These Special Ops guys were physically and mentally as tough as they came, but there were stories about some of them not being wrapped too tight. From what I had seen of them, I believed it. Roberts opened the sack and showed us the money we were going to be using.
“You’ll tell them that you’re going to be using the money to buy the kids’ safety,” he said. “And try to hang on to it.”
2030. Was an hour after sunset when we mounted up. The stink from the marshes was mixed with sewer smells and cooking. My stomach was queasy and the aftertaste from the meal didn’t help any.
Two of Roberts’s people were in the first SUV. Me, Jonesy, Coles, and Marla were in the second, with a driver chewing on an unlit cigar. Miller and Owens and the translator were in the last vehicle with the fourth security guy and a kid. They had put a sack over the kid’s head. I felt sorry for him, or her, I didn’t know which.
What I was wondering was whether the security guys were there to protect us or to watch us. The guy driving our vehicle—he said his name was Gambarelli—was short and wide, with a big head that seemed to come out of his chest. His teeth were perfectly lined up so when he smiled—or maybe he was smiling, it was hard to tell—they lined up like teeth in a kid’s drawing.
“I ever tell you about doing stuff you don’t want to tell your mama about?” Jonesy asked.
“That what we doing?” Marla asked.
“That’s what we doing,” Jonesy said.
Gambarelli got a big kick out of that. “That’s good! That’s real good! I’m going to tell all the guys about that!”
I thought about my father. An image of him sitting on his chair near our front room window came to mind. He didn’t know how much I wanted things to be okay between us. What I wanted was for him to look at me and see me in the moment, and not worry about what I was going to do or how I was going to kick it ten years down the line. I hoped if anything happened to me he would be all right with it. I knew Mama would be sad, but she wouldn’t feel mad. Mama wasn’t like that.
We drove west for a while and then made a right turn toward the east. We were on the road longer than I thought we would be, maybe twenty-five minutes, maybe a half hour. I knew that Al Amarah was only thirty miles from the Iranian border, but I didn’t know how we had traveled to get to the tribal camp. After a while I saw the flicker of lights ahead in the darkness. Torches. I thought I could see figures. I felt my testicles shrivel.
“I think they know we’re coming,” I said.
“Yeah, you don’t want to surprise anybody out here unless you plan on killing them,” our driver said. “Don’t get spooked. Everything’s cool, just don’t get spooked.”
He was spooking me out all by himself.
A string of clouds drifted across the three-quarter moon, sending shadows everywhere. The driver slowed the vehicle down and then we stopped in front of two guys who pointed their AK-47s in our direction. They said something and Fadel told us all to get out.
The air was still and there was a swarm of tiny bugs flying in front of my face. I saw Owens taking the hood off of the kid. He was wide-eyed, and slight, but good-looking.
We were led through a maze of tents and small groups of men, huddled together in the darkness. I knew I was walking stiff-leggedly, but I couldn’t help myself. My mouth was dry and I wondered if I would be able to speak when the time came.
We were led into a tent that was up against a hill. We went through the tent into a one-story semi-square building. For some reason I expected Osama bin Laden or somebody to be sitting inside of it.
They had electric lights set up and it was fairly bright. There was a rug on the ground and rugs along the wall. We stopped inside and the men who had brought us in, two older guys dressed in caftans and sandals, pointed to the ground. We started to sit. I saw Miller with her arm around the shoulders of the child we had brought along. The Iraqis didn’t even glance in the kid’s direction and I wondered if there had been some mistake.
We waited nearly ten minutes in silence until four more men came into the cave from the same way that we had entered. They were followed by a man carrying pillows. The pillows were put down and the four new guys sat on them.
They looked us over and spoke among themselves. They looked at the boy and one of the men nodded. That was a relief. He said something and one of the men with a gun took the boy by the hand and led him out of the cave. Then they continued talking among themselves.
Fadel leaned toward us. “They are saying that the women are probably prostitutes,” he said softly. “Remember that they probably understand English, too. So you tell me what you want.”
Coles sniffed twice and started talking. He spoke in a low voice and I thought it was probably because we were all so close together. He said we were willing to talk to the people who had taken the children.
“We believe we can get them back without any harm coming to them,” he said.
“And what do you want?” The guy speaking was my complexion, at least he looked brownish in the dim light, and maybe a hundred years old.
“We understand you have some detonators that interest us,” Coles said.
The old man shrugged, and spoke to the others. They all shrugged. It reminded me of hanging out in the barbershop on Saturday and the old dudes wanted to mess with the young bloods. He spoke to Fadel, who turned to us slowly.
“He says he doesn’t know what the American is talking about,” Fadel said. “What are detonators?”
Coles shook his head slowly, then stood. We all stood and watched as Coles extended his hand to the elder Afghani. The two men shook hands briefly and we started out of the cave.
“Wait!” Fadel stopped us just as we reached the flap that covered the entrance. “The chief has something else to say.”
We stood for what seemed forever. My right leg was aching. I had never noticed that before.
The old man I thought might have been a chief spoke very softly to the man on his left. He was also ancient-loo
king and wore a kind of half turban the same silver-white color of his beard. The fire reflected in his beard and eyes and gave him a mystical look. The chief went on for a while but the other man didn’t speak. Occasionally he would raise his hands, then turn the palms up and out, as if he weren’t sure of himself. My stomach was hurting now. Then I realized that if we were suddenly attacked, I wouldn’t even be nearly ready. I looked at Jonesy and Miller and they were just as absorbed in the conversation between the two men still seated on the floor as I was.
Finally the chief spoke to Fadel, who in turn asked Coles for the map. Fadel got down on his knees and showed the old man the meeting place.
“Show them the money,” Coles said to me.
I fumbled with the bag, finally got it opened, and folded my hands so no one would see them shaking. None of the Iraqis looked at it. They were so cool.
Another of the men spoke to Fadel, who answered in a different tone of voice. The man spoke to him again and Fadel bowed his head and did the same palms-up gesture as the older man had done. Then there were nods all around and Fadel told me to pick up the money. A minute later we were out of the cave and headed back to the vehicles.
“We do it?” Marla asked.
“We did it,” Fadel said.
“What was that last bit of conversation?” Coles asked. “When the other guy spoke to you?”
“He wanted to know who my people were, and if they knew I worked for nonbelievers.”
I thought of the kid walking around touching all the Americans saying, “Infidel, infidel, infidel.”
We were supposed to meet in one hour and we would just have enough time, if we tore through the darkness at a clip fast enough to kill us all, to make it.
“Roberts timed this too closely,” Coles said.
“There’s an old proverb they say in the marshes,” Fadel said. “‘Chiefs sleep on anthills.’ If he sleeps on it he’s going to be bothered all night and by the morning he will have changed his mind five times.”
We were elated on the way back. I was worried about IEDs on the road but I didn’t think too much about them.
“The thing that gets me,” Marla said, “is that if either side blows us away, they’re going to think they at least got something out of the deal.”
Fadel radioed ahead and Roberts and his team met us on the road.
“Fadel, they buy our story?” Roberts asked.
“No, but they think we can get the kids,” Fadel said.
“I thought bringing in decent-looking people might help the situation,” Roberts said, grinning. “We pull this off and I’m putting myself up for general.”
Roberts had the other kids brought out and put them into the vehicle with Miller.
“Is that kid…?” Miller squinted.
“Blind,” Roberts said. “We build ourselves another life, Captain, and I’ll come back over here with you to help these people. In the meanwhile if anybody has to pee or anything, do it now and get on your way. If it starts going down wrong, get into your vehicles and bug the hell out. Our vehicles have armored plates on the sides and if you don’t get a direct hit with an RPG or take a straight-on shot from a AK-47, you have a good chance of making it. These people shoot and run quick; they don’t want to tangle with my men. We lack sympathy.”
I felt like I had to pee but couldn’t go.
There was an eerie sound coming from the camp. I thought it was chanting and asked Fadel if they were praying for us.
“That guy’s buffalo is sick,” Roberts said. “He’s singing to it to make it feel better. He’s only got that one buffalo so he gets priority.”
Great.
“Birdy!” It was Jonesy.
“I get that blues club, you going to come down to Memphis to check it out?”
“I get free drinks?”
“All your narrow butt can handle.” Jonesy put his hand up and I slapped him five.
“Bet!”
I was more relaxed as we set out. Having the kids to deliver made me feel better. I could tell Marla was more relaxed, too. She was running her mouth about how she hadn’t made it on the debating squad at Half Hollow Hills.
“What I should do is get me a Humvee and hook it up with a sound system and a squad gun,” she said. “Then I’ll put on the Survivor cut and blast it up to decibel heaven as I blow away all the old biddies picking the debating team.”
“It won’t be the same ones that didn’t pick you,” I said.
“Birdy, the whole deal’s symbolic; don’t be so lame, man,” Marla said.
Driving through the night was spooky, scary, but we had done okay so far. We were actually dealing with these people far off the beaten track. I hoped we were saving lives. Even Miller looked okay. Or at least as okay as Miller ever looked.
We got to the place on the map where we were supposed to meet the Iraqis and Gambarelli pulled off to one side.
“They’re here,” he said. “I can smell them!”
I looked at him to see if he was kidding. He wasn’t.
Roberts’s guys got out first and quickly disappeared into the darkness. For a wild moment the thought came to me that I wasn’t sure if they were really good guys after all.
Put it out of your mind.
Coles and Miller were getting the children out. It was beginning to rain and had grown cool. I wondered if the children were cold. I pulled down my night-vision goggles, couldn’t see crap, and pushed them back up.
Miller and Coles pushed the kids forward. Fadel was with them.
“Birdy! Move up with us.” Coles spoke in a loud whisper.
We walked toward what looked like a shimmer in the fog. As I got nearer I could see the outline of a rifle; from the angle it was on someone’s back with the sling across his chest. A shift in the moon and I could see three figures. Each one stood behind a box.
Fadel stepped forward and greeted them in Arabic. I checked the safety on my weapon.
The three figures were young men. They piled the boxes down in front of Fadel.
“Take a look, Birdy.”
Crap, I didn’t want to look away from the guys. Stepping forward as I fumbled for my flashlight, I realized I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be seeing. I lifted the first box. It was lighter than I thought. For some reason that was reassuring. At least it wasn’t going to be a 105-mm shell rigged to mist me.
The box was unsealed and I put my hand in it. I felt something in plastic and put the flashlight on the contents. There was a row of blue tubes, two, maybe three inches long, each with two wires sticking out of one end. A quick guess said there were at least a hundred in the box.
“They look like detonators to me,” I said.
“Take them back to the truck,” Coles said.
I could lift all three boxes easily and was glad to be moving away. I got the boxes into the vehicles I had come in. By the time I turned, Coles and Miller were almost back with me. Behind them I saw the children disappear into the darkness. I heard one of the Iraqis speak and saw the children squat down quickly.
“The kids are—”
I didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence before the first shots rang out. The flame from the muzzle of the AK-47 lit up the figure for a hot moment and I could see the guy sliding off to the right.
“The children!” Miller was screaming.
From behind me I heard the answering fire from Roberts’s men.
“Move it out! Move it out!” Coles was shouting.
The sound of a machine gun came from our side of the road and a grenade went off a short distance from where the Iraqis had been standing. Then there was a sudden and awful silence.
“Mount up! Mount up!” Coles’s voice was higher, more urgent.
We were getting into the vehicles when we heard another sound. It was one of the children. He was crying.
“One of them is hurt!” Miller.
“Leave him!” Coles.
I could see the child. It was the blind boy, his hands up in fron
t of him, pushing against the darkness. Then I saw a figure—it was Jonesy—running toward him.
“Jonesy’s out there!” I called out.
Crouching, I headed toward them. Jonesy had grabbed the
child around his chest and was covering his body with his own.
“Get out of here! Get out of here!” One of Roberts’s men.
For a moment I lost sight of Jonesy. Then I saw him get to his knees.
“Stay low!” I yelled. “Stay low!”
I felt a sharp pain and my foot slip out from under me. More bullets hit the ground to my left and suddenly I was firing into the darkness.
Then an explosion, it had to be fifty yards in front of me, lit up the night sky. The impact of it lifted me off the ground and backward. Then I was being pulled to my feet. I looked up and saw Gambarelli, eyes staring straight ahead, a pistol at arm’s length pumping bullets in the direction the explosion had gone off.
I half walked, half got dragged back to the vehicle and slid in. Marla was behind the wheel and as soon as the door closed, she spun it around.
“Where’s Jonesy?”
“They’re taking him to the other truck,” she said. “He’s hit! He’s hit!”
I was sprawled across the backseat of the truck as we spun in the road. We started after the first truck with Marla pushing within ten feet of its rear. Twenty seconds down the road, we saw the rest of Roberts’s men in SUVs and Humvees lining the road. I glanced at the rearview mirror. There weren’t any lights following us.
It took forever to get back to the camp. There were torches lit everywhere and guys running around with automatic rifles as Roberts was setting up some kind of a defense.
I stumbled through the confusion looking for Jonesy. Then I saw two guys carrying someone into one of the huts. Miller was pushing her way past us to get to him.
They were putting him down on the ground as I reached them. Jonesy’s eyes were open and his hand was moving near his neck, as if he were trying to brush something away. I looked and saw a bubble of blood swell and disappear.
“Give him some air!” Miller was on her knees next to him and cutting away his uniform. “Give him some air!”
Sunrise Over Fallujah Page 20
